


Last Words

by TransScribe



Category: Star Trek: Discovery, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Developing Relationship, Episode: s02e13-14 Such Sweet Sorrow Parts 1-2, M/M, Me rolling with sad Spock thoughts I had, Spock musing on Michael's advice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 20:54:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18582412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TransScribe/pseuds/TransScribe
Summary: Spock is being quieter than usual.It's someone's birthday.----Spoilers for Discovery season 2 finale.





	Last Words

**Author's Note:**

> I had sad thoughts about Spock not being able to talk about... Everything, and after a while that'd start to weigh on him. Especially on Michael's birthday. It's just a short thing that I wanted to share.
> 
> Also, heads up, it probably doesn't make much sense if you haven't seen the episode because there's presumed knowledge r.e. Spock & Michael's last conversation. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!!!

Jim leaned back in the captain’s chair, signing another report and handing it back to Rand with a smile. His eyes flickered around the bridge, seeing his crew at their stations, doing their job or talking with the others nearby. He saw no reason to stop them; good relationships between his crew made things run more smoothly, in his experience, and there wasn’t much for them to do at the moment, really. 

 

They were on route to their next planetary survey, making the day (he used that term loosely) fairly uneventful. He’d call it a perfectly ordinary - almost boring - day, really, if it weren’t for the way Spock was acting. 

 

It was hard to tell with his first officer, sometimes, but by now Jim knew him well enough to be able to identify when something was off. 

 

The thing was, Spock hadn’t had breakfast with him this morning. For anyone else it would be insignificant, but Spock was a creature of habit. Jim knew he would never miss an appointment - professional or otherwise - without mentioning it beforehand. Being the captain, he also knew Spock hadn’t had any urgent meetings that morning. No, he hadn’t been there for _personal reasons_ \- which worried Jim greatly. 

 

He stood to make his rounds of the bridge; mostly to cover for the fact that he just wanted to talk to Spock, but he suspected some of his crew could see through the plan anyway. He reached the science console last and stood close to his First, hoping to keep the conversation between the two of them. 

 

“See anything interesting?” he asked, figuring leading up to questions about emotion would make the Vulcan less likely to shut down on him. 

 

Spock simply shot him a look, raised an eyebrow, returned his gaze to his screens. 

 

This was why Jim was worried about him; usually Spock would make a sarcastic comment (vehemently denying it was sarcasm all the same) about the lack of data input he was receiving on their current course, or would tell him about something interesting that he _had_ found; an ongoing project he was working on, perhaps. At the very least, he may mention something about how he did not hold certain findings to a higher value than others, and was simply performing his duties - which was the closest to a blatant lie a Vulcan would ever say, a fact that was evident whenever Spock was, indeed, interested in something. 

 

Jim’s face fell in concern. “Are you ok?” 

 

Spock didn’t look up. “My health is optimal.”

 

“I wasn’t asking about your health, Spock,” he murmured. 

 

Spock stilled for a moment, but quickly recovered and returned to whatever he had been doing before — what _was_ he doing? Jim couldn’t think of any current readings that would be so genuinely consuming. “It is of no consequence,” Spock said, and something about it implied a dismissal. 

 

At no point did Spock deny that something was wrong, and the fact did not get past Jim. He stayed where he was. 

 

Eventually, Spock looked up. “Is there anything else, Captain?” he asked, and something in his eyes begged Jim not to press this right now. Just for a second, Spock opened himself enough to admit that yes, there was something wrong, but here was not the place. 

 

He realised, then, that Spock wouldn’t give him any answers — at least, not on the bridge. “No, Commander. I suppose not.” He pushed himself off the console he’d been leaning on. “As you were,” he said with a nod, returning to the Captain’s chair. 

 

Try as he might to stop them, his eyes continuously drifted back to Spock for the remainder of the shift. 

 

——

 

Jim sat in his cabin after shift, thoughts centred around Spock. He had left the bridge more quickly than usual; Jim presumed he was going to meditate. He wanted answers, though, and maybe he would be able to get them now that they weren’t on duty. He pushed himself out of his seat and walked through their joined bathroom to knock on the door to Spock’s cabin. 

 

No response. 

 

“Spock?”

 

Silence. 

 

Jim opened the door, unsurprised to see the First Officer’s quarters empty. 

 

“Computer, what is the current location of Commander Spock?” 

 

“ _Commander Spock is on the observation deck._ ” 

 

Of course. 

 

He was out the door in a moment. 

 

——

 

When the Captain arrived, the observation deck was almost empty, as usual. He understood why Spock would choose it if he wanted to be alone. 

 

There was a single figure in the room, standing close to the window, staring off into space — quite literally. 

 

Jim walked in slowly; he knew Spock’s sensitive ears would pick up his footfalls, but he wanted to give the Vulcan plenty of opportunity to ask him to leave if he truly desired to be alone. 

 

Some part of Jim told him that Spock didn’t, really. 

 

Jim stopped when he reached the Vulcan’s side, and stood silently. He wanted Spock to know that he was there, with him and for him, but he wasn’t here to pry. 

 

The quiet between them was comfortable, the type that takes time and respect and trust to cultivate. The type that is unique to those who have a bond deeper than most. Jim wasn’t entirely sure what they had between them, but he knew that it was strong, and would likely only get stronger, deeper.  

 

“I know of someone who would have been quite fond of you,” Spock said, breaking their silence, pulling Jim out of his introspection. He didn’t look at Jim, his eyes fixed out the window. 

 

Jim blinked, head turned towards Spock, looking at his face in profile. He smiled slightly, sensing that this was something sensitive. Something fragile. “Oh yeah?”

 

“She once told me that I must allow other people to reach out to me. That I must find the one who seems farthest from me, and reach out to them in turn. That I must allow them to guide me.” 

 

Jim stayed silent, gazing at Spock. Somehow, he knew that his First didn’t need a conversation at that moment; he just needed someone to listen. 

 

“I did not understand at the time. The advice seemed illogical; why should I look to someone so unlike me for guidance?” Spock paused, breathed deeply. Stared out into the black. “I promised her that I would, but at the time I… I was concerned that I had lied to her. It was perhaps the last thing she would ever say to me, her last advice, and I did not know how to follow it.” 

 

His First Officer turned to look at him for the first time since Jim had entered the room. “I understand now. What we have… This is what she was referring to. Your guidance, encouraging me to accept my human half as well as my Vulcan half, showing me that I have a place in this universe… You are the one who I must reach out to.” 

 

Jim was silent for a while, somewhat floored by Spock’s words, searching for something, _anything_ , that would be an adequate response to a declaration like that. 

 

Spock continued instead, saving him from fumbling for an appropriate response. “I have found what she hoped I would, and I am pleased. I am glad it is you.” His head turned towards the stars again. “And yet I cannot dismiss the thought that she will never know this; that she was right. I will never be able to thank her. The two of you will never be able to meet.” A pause. "Meditation has been unable to eradicate these thoughts.” 

 

He stepped closer to the observation window. 

 

Almost silently, he said, “It is her birthday today.” 

 

Jim allowed the silence to stretch for a moment, allowed Spock time to recover, to breathe. He moved to stand beside him again, shoulder-to-shoulder. “Who was she?” Jim asked softly. “What happened to her?"

 

Spock looked to his feet, shook his head. Jim knew he was trying to hide a face that revealed too much. “I cannot say. You must understand, it is not because I do not wish to, or I do not trust you—“ 

 

“Hey,” Jim said, placing a comforting hand on Spock’s bicep. “Forget I asked.” He watched as Spock nodded, relieved to see some of the tension draining from his shoulders. “What would you say to dinner, my quarters? I know you haven’t eaten much today.” 

 

The Vulcan placed a hand over the one on his arm. “I believe I would enjoy that.” After a short moment, he spoke again; softer this time. “Thank you, Jim."

 

Jim smiled, leading them both away from the observation deck, from whatever memories Spock had been dwelling on. He glanced back over his shoulder, into a universe of stars who watched over them. As if he could spot what Spock had been looking for. As if the universe would be able to answer his questions. 

 

_I’ll take care of him,_ he thought. To who, he wasn’t sure.  _I’ll be his guide, and I’ll show him what he’s worth._  

_I promise._

 

The stars continued to shine as Jim turned away from them, his hand that now rested on Spock’s elbow squeezing gently. 

 

He hoped that Spock was right; that whoever he had been talking about would have liked him, would have thought that he was a good choice. That he could be who Spock needed. Maybe one day Spock would tell him more, but maybe not. Either way, he would be sure that Spock knew he had a place. 

 

It was the least he could do for the man he was growing to love. 


End file.
